


Nightmares

by TheMadam



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is soff, Angst, Backstory, CPTSD, Childhood Trauma, Comfort, Cuddles, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, He comfort she, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Kisses, Kissing, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Triggers, snuggles, this is dark, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24768721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadam/pseuds/TheMadam
Summary: Moira has a nightmare pertaining to her past. Alastor has never tread this territory before, but he tries his best. She may not be ready to discuss it, but that's ok. He's going to be by her side the whole way through.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Character(s), Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh, Moira has a hella McDark backstory LOL. I woke up this morning with a _desperate_ desire to write some angst/hurt n comfort. So here we are sksksks. Serious content warning just to be safe, it is not the lightest fic of my bunch. If you are triggered by any of the tags, even remotely, even if it is not explicitly stated, do read at your own risk. I'd have added this to my RadioReid Chronicles collection, but I felt it was both too long and too dark for what I want that collection to be. Sorry not sorry to spam y'all w/ more al x oc content, but it's what the heart wanted to do LOL. Tank ooo and enjoy uwu

Darkness surrounded her, the kind of darkness only foreboding dreams can muster. So far throughout the night, she hadn’t had much going on in her subconscious. It was the calm before the storm. Her brain coaxing her into a false sense of security before trudging up the worst parts of her past. Sleep is something she has anxiety about because of what can happen in her dreams.

Hands slowly shot out of said darkness. All shapes and sizes. All of _men_. Men who had hurt and abused her from a young age. Of men whose faces she can’t forget. They grab and grope at her in this stark darkness. She can smell them, each individual who had hurt her in her time alive. As the touching gets more aggressive, disgust wells in her gut. She tries to scream, but nothing comes out. Almost reminiscent of when those acts actually happened. 

Wiggling about, she tries to pry them all off of her. They don’t budge. A voice carries through the empty void. Then a face comes into view. They’re both an amalgamation of all of them. But only one stands out as crystal clear. The one of the man who hurt her the most in that time of her life. It leaves her petrified, frozen in terror and shock like before. She wants to scream at him, but nothing happens. It’s like every nerve in her body is on fire, but she can’t do anything about it. He stares endlessly, hungrily, bringing her back to that helpless first time.

In the waking world, Alastor had been simply reading in her chair at the desk in the corner of her room. Sleep is not something that is necessary for him. It’s more of a hobby or treat, very rarely needed. He likes the idea of keeping Moira company in the early morning or late night hours, depending on how you want to look at it. Oftentimes she sleeps soundly, the occasional mutter or hum throughout the night, but quiet nonetheless. This is the first time she’s really stirred so heavily in his presence.

His focus is drawn to her like a moth to a flame when she chirps. It isn’t light like laughter. No. It is more akin to fear, anxiety. Soft mumbles bubble from her lips, it’s almost agonizing. Placing his book down, he studies her carefully. Her brow is furrowed in fear and apprehension. Sweat has begun to form on her neck and the words sound more like a cry for help. Nightmares usually pass of their own accord or the individual wakes. However, he is aware she has sleep paralysis from time to time and he wonders if this is one of those situations.

Slowly he gets up from the chair and makes his way to the edge of the bed. Moira has taken to tossing her head, fingers twitching and limbs jerking like she’s trying to claw her way out of something. Whines have built in her throat at whatever nightmare her brain has concocted. It truly must be deplorable because he has never seen her like this. This state of fight or flight mode. It worries him greatly.

Reaching out, he places his hand gingerly on her cheek. Stroking the soft skin gently, he calls her name. He speaks softly in the hopes it will either sooth her restless mind or awake her carefully. This is not a situation he’s well versed in, but he does have the presence of mind to be gentle. However it plays out, he will do his best. He is aware she has had some sort of traumatic past, but never has she discussed it at length with him. Only stating it still haunts her, even in death. There’s been many days where she has shut herself in her room due to it. It hurts him just a little that she won’t share this knowledge, but he knows better not to pry. She’s been nothing but respectful of his boundaries all this time, the least he can do is extend that courtesy to her.

In her terrifying world of unease, she vaguely registers warmth on her cheek. The feeling is pleasant in contrast to everything happening around her. She still cannot tear her eyes from the man before her. Her body is numb to the sensations on her form, the only thing she can focus on are those disgusting hazel eyes. Just as the figure goes to speak, a voice filters in her ears. It’s soothing and not at all that of this particular man in her line of vision. No. It’s the voice of someone she trusts, but she can’t place it just now. She can’t even find comfort in it. The only thing she can register is the lips moving and she is a little thankful her brain cannot recall that voice at the moment. It would only fuel her fear. When the figure reaches out to her is when her body decides to release its hold on unconsciousness, throwing her in the world of waking abruptly. The tail end of the figure's words reach her ear, that voice comes through enough to hear the end of the filth he’d always spew. So much for not being able to recall it, but who was she kidding? She could never forget anything he did to her. He was her first memory.

Bolting upright, she doesn’t register her room or Alastor before her. Only the fact someone is _touching_ her and she _hates_ it right now. Lashing out, she smacks Alastor’s hand away from her face harshly and scrambles to the other side of the bed. Her breath comes in short, quick pants. She finds safety as far away from him as she can while still staying warm under the covers. There’s a barrier between her and him as her mind reels at the nightmare. 

“Get the _fuck_ away from me!” Pours from her lips in defense, still not really aware of her surroundings. Curling in on herself, she lets out a soft sob, her form trembling as she can’t wash the feeling away.

Alastor lets her have her moment. He knows full well she isn’t angry or hurt by _him_. Her anxiety and fear is palpable, but it has left him in a position of unease. This is territory he has never tread before. It makes him feel useless. He wants to reach out and touch her, more for himself than her for once. Touch has been a rocky area for them, what with his aversion and all. But now he’s starting to understand. The more he grows fond of her, the more he wants to give in to the desire to feel her. This situation however has left him stumped and he wants nothing more than to comfort her, not make whatever this is even worse.

“Darling?” He calls to her tentatively. He makes no move toward her, but feels a twinge of sadness when she flinches at the sound of his voice. Her sobs have quieted to soft sniffles, and she seems keen on staying curled up in the blankets. Shifting to bring his legs on the bed, he slowly scoots until he’s against the headboard, but still far away from her.

Sitting there idly, he lets a soft tune filter through the room in hopes of calming her. It seems to work a bit. She sits up slowly, pushing her hair out of her face and rubbing her eyes. They’re very puffy as soft sniffles escape her. Her breathing is a bit more even, but she still trembles lightly. 

“I’m sorry.” Is all she can manage to mutter, finally coming to that she’s not where she had been all those years ago. Alastor hums quietly.

“It’s ok, Dear. It’s ok.” He reassures calmly. “Is there anything I can do to help? Would you like some water?” 

She nods stiffly, still unable to really look him in the eye. He wonders if perhaps he is too aggressive in appearance for the time being. Softening his ears and smile, he snaps his fingers to produce a tall glass in his hand. Holding it out to her at arms length, he nods approvingly when she takes it from him. 

Chugging the glass down swiftly, she peers into it as she rests it on her lap. Her mind is numb as she tries to shake the sensation and memories from her brain. It is unfortunately not an Etch-A-Sketch and refuses to budge. She feels like a million hands are crawling on her skin and it takes everything within her to not rip it off. Comfort and reassurance. That’s what she wants, but the words are stuck in her throat. 

Placing the cup on the nightstand beside her, she looks over to Alastor. He regards her carefully, giving a gentle tilt of his head, but says nothing. Even though he has been silent for the most part, she is appreciative of his presence. And his regard for her boundaries.

“Thank you.” She mutters quietly, flashing him a shaky smile.

“Of course.” He replies, tapping his thigh idly. There’s no rule book for him on how to behave so he waits patiently. Moira pushes the covers away and fans her face with her hand in an attempt to cool down. She can hear her blood rushing in her ears. With a deep breath, she shakes her head, feeling much calmer than she had been moments before. Her stomach still hurt tremendously though.

“What would you like, Dear? How may I help you?” Alastor asks gently. Moira takes a moment, still not feeling ready to really talk, but it’s necessary for the time being.

“Can… I sit on your lap?” She asks sheepishly, tapping her index fingers together in a childish manner. Alastor makes her feel safe and right now she doesn’t feel very safe even if she knows in her heart that she is. 

Holding his arms out wide, Alastor motions for Moira to come over to him. His smile stretches a fraction further, but he makes a conscious effort to not bare teeth. She hesitates for a moment, really giving thought to if she wants that. But if anyone could wash away the feeling on her skin, it is him.

With calculated movements, she crawls over to him. Climbing into his lap, she slumps against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. He scoops her up carefully, making it a point to be mindful of her horns. Some finagling is needed, but he manages to plant a kiss to the top of her head and hums softly. He rubs gentle circles to her back. The feeling brings almost instant relief to her. She is safe. 

“More, please.” She commands quietly, unaware of the fact she has begun to tremble again. Silent tears roll over her cheeks, staining his shirt for a moment. Alastor thinks he might know what she means, but has to make sure. It’s a delicate dance and he doesn’t wish to step on her toes so to speak.

“Elaborate, Darling. I’d hate to do the wrong thing.” He continues to rub her back gently while he speaks, patting it occasionally as well. Dropping her arms, Moira presses her cheek firmly into his chest, allowing her body to lie heavily against him.

“Just… everywhere. It feels… like they’re all over me. I want it gone.” 

Piecing her words together, Alastor widens the range of his movements. Running his hands down the entirety of her back, he hums quietly. Just a simple, mindless tune to remind her she’s not there. She’s here, with him. His hands make their way to her arms, rubbing them down in a cleansing motion. Like he’s wiping away the grime gently. They move all over the places he can reach, but he is careful when he touches her thighs. He keeps an eye on her body language when he rests his hands on them, but she doesn’t push him away so he continues. 

His hands running over her body and through her hair works to replace the feeling her mind had conjured. Now the touch she is registering is wanted, from someone she knows would never intentionally hurt her. She rubs her cheek against him in a sly attempt of both wiping her tears and finding some ground. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees _him_. So she stares blankly at the wall ahead of her until her eyes burn. 

“You’re safe, my love.” Alastor coos softly. The words break Moira for a second time. Squeezing her arms tightly around him, she nods in agreeance. He continues a bit more.

“I’d never let anything harm you. You’re safe with me. You’re safe here. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Do you promise?” Moira asks hurriedly, pulling away to look at him. Prying an arm from around his waist, he brings her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles.

“You have my word.” He reassures, maintaining eye contact to prove his point. 

Slipping her hand from his, she cups his face. He leans into the touch and reciprocates the action, bringing a hand to cup hers in return. A sense of urgency fills her and she moves forward to close the distance. Alastor meets her halfway, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. He wraps his arms around her waist to hold her tighter to him and deepen the kiss. 

She mutters a soft thanks against his lips when the two part enough to allow that. Giving her a quick peck, he pulls away fully to look at her.

“I wish nothing more than to see you smile, Dear. You’re a very strong woman, Moira. I am honored to be by your side.” He praises sweetly. She smiles bright at him, earning her a gentle pinch to her cheek. Looking to the bed beneath them, she sighs.

“I can’t sleep. Not right now.” 

“Then we won’t. You can always take a nap later, Dear. I won’t hold it against you.” Alastor teases. She casts him a fleeting glance before scoffing. It’s too early for her liking, but her mind is not ready to settle down, she still finds herself exhausted.

“Do you trust me?” He inquires mischievously. She gives him a confused look, but nods. Of course she does. She wouldn’t be sitting on his lap after such a thing if she didn’t. Let alone ask him to touch her.

Scooping her up, he grabs a blanket and makes his way to the sliding glass door. He pulls it open and gently places her on the loveseat there, wrapping her up in a burrito-like fashion with the blanket. Popping open a side table that had been leaning against the wall, he places it just next to her. Snapping his fingers, he conjures two mugs, one with coffee for himself and one with what Moira presumes to be hot chocolate for her. It’s hard to say considering it’s almost overflowing with whipped cream. 

Taking a seat beside her, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her legs over his lap. He mutters a few more words of reassurance and kisses her cheek. The two snuggle up, drinks in hand and comfortable silence until the morning light illuminates the city.


End file.
